


Prompt 1: Little Boxes

by LadyArinn



Series: Februrary 2020 Daily Prompts [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Becasuse Sties is Gay and is Panicking, Brief Mention of Other Relationships, But No Depiction, But They Didn't Mean It, Dating, F/M, Gay Panic, Happy Ending, Infidelity, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Relationship Discussions, Rough Sex, assholes in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:00:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22535875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyArinn/pseuds/LadyArinn
Summary: Stiles discovers a distinctive jewelry box when he goes snooping where he doesn't belong, and begins to panic over how Peter could possibly think they're ready to make that sort of commitment to each other.
Relationships: Peter Hale/Original Character(s), Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Februrary 2020 Daily Prompts [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1621495
Comments: 26
Kudos: 209





	Prompt 1: Little Boxes

**Author's Note:**

> I LIVE!!!!!!!!

Stiles stares down at the box with more than a great deal of surprise and a little bit of inexplicable fear. It was small, square, a rich navy velvet, and very much present and there in the corner of Peter’s underwear drawer. A few moments ago it had been tucked right in under the pair of briefs Stiles had accidentally dislodged in his search for the pair of boxers he _knew_ the older man had stolen from him, but now it was there for all the world and him to see.

He stares for a moment more before carefully rearranging everything back the way it had been, and closes the drawer resolutely. 

Maybe, just maybe, if he pretended it wasn’t there it _wouldn’t be._ Maybe if he pretended like he’d never seen it it would just cease to exist. Object-permanence was overrated and there really wasn’t any proof it was what he thought it was. Peter maybe kept some of his own jewelry in the box, and that made so much sense Stiles simply wouldn’t question it and he definitely wouldn’t turn back and look to verify this new belief. 

Stiles has moved his panic to the living room by the time Peter comes into his apartment with a bag of groceries in hand from the fancy grocery Stiles refused to go inside since the prices made him so angry, not even blinking at Stiles angrily pacing in his living room. 

“Where are my boxers, you asshole? The power-ranger ones.” Stiles pounces, the-thing-that-does-not-exist making the question come out a bit more savagely than it would have any other day.

Peter hummed, not sparing the younger man a glance as he went to the kitchen, Stiles angrily stomping after him, “Ah, the ones that are old, baggy, and frankly disgusting? Maybe they finally succumbed to age and just faded to dust.”

“You threw them away!” Stiles shrieked, pointing accusatorily at the other man’s back as he put the over-priced dry pasta away. “I know you did, even if I didn’t find them in your trash!”

“Stiles, don’t be ridiculous, I wouldn’t have throw them away. I had them _burned_.” He sighed, turning to lean back negligently on the counter, his face so stupid and his hair styled and his chest hair peeking out of the collar of the shirt that was settled perfectly over every ridge of muscles and Stiles had never hated another person more.

Stiles threw himself at the werewolf with a growl that was almost as feral as anything a supernatural creature could come up with, magic crackling in the air and Peter’s eyes flashing blue and somehow within the next few minutes Stiles ends up bent over the counter with Peter’s teeth at the curve of his throat and the man’s dick up his ass.

“Come on,” Stiles gasped, pleasure pumping through his veins faster than blood, fingers almost numb from how tightly he was gripping Peter’s hair behind him, legs shaking from how good it is, “Is this all you got?”

“You know it’s not,” Peter growled, more animal than man and Stiles wanted to fucking melt, it was so good.

"Then do better or I’ll go out and find someone who _will_.” He gasped, the hand holding him up slipping a bit on the sweat-slicked granite so that he accidentally knocked the last few groceries needing to be sorted to the ground.

Stiles could feel the growl Peter let out all the way to his very core, and gasped as Peter’s claws grew so much they cut into the skin at his hips. Peter held him in place effortlessly, ignoring the curses and threats Stiles let loose as Peter slowly drew back until just the head remained inside the younger man. He waited until Stiles’ threats became more creative and bloody before thrusting back in as deep as he could as fast and hard as he could.

“Holy fucking sweet Jesus!” Stiles cried out, falling against the countertop as Peter continued on until both of them had collapsed in a tangle of sweaty limbs and sated bodies. 

Stiles was sated and content for all of half a minute before his brain, for some reason, went _‘HEY REAL QUICK DO YOU REMEMBER THE BOX???’_ and had him tensing up and on edge immediately, which was not where he wanted to be after a truly incredible orgasm.

“What?” Peter muttered, obviously feeling the sudden tension since he was basically acting as a blanket over Stiles and his now-soft dick was still up his ass a bit.

“What do you mean, _what_ ?” Stiles muttered, turning his head to glare back at the man. Peter sighed as if _he_ were the one that was long suffering and how dare he?

“You tensed up, and you’re making the face you make whenever you’re upset about something stupid.” He muttered.

“Well, I’m _sorry_ ,” Stiles hissed, “That I can’t find it within myself to be happy after finding out you burned my favorite pair of boxers.” He shoved up, and Peter was confused enough to let him slip away to straighten up his clothes, since they hadn’t quite gotten around to taking them off fully. 

“You’re still upset about that?” Peter asked flatly, watching Stiles moving frantically around the kitchen and then the living room, gathering a few things as he went.

And no, he wasn’t. This is what they _did_ , they had stupid arguments just for the excuse to have angry sex to fuck it out and then they moved on, happy and contented. That's how things had been between them for _three years_ , so it didn’t make sense for Stiles to be holding on to this.

He hadn’t even really liked the underwear, just had liked how annoyed they made Peter, but he couldn’t exactly let Peter know the real reason he was upset, now could he? After all, he was trying to act like there was nothing notable about The Box in the hopes that everything would just blow over. 

“Of course I’m upset about the underwear!” Stiles cried as he stormed out of the apartment, leaving behind Peter in his kitchen, dick out and extremely confused.

* * *

Stiles races to his small one bedroom apartment in record time to throw himself on his bed and frantically Skype the one logical person he knew would tell him how best to run away from this issue.

“This had better be good, I’m getting ready for a date.” Lydia answered, and her hair was pulled back and makeup only partially on as she leveled a frightening glare at her long-time friend. 

“Peter’s going to propose!” Stiles blurted, and she froze long enough for him to know he had thrown her and then relaxed back into her chair.

“Explain.” She demanded. And he did.

She finished her foundation and concealer as he rushed through his explanation, and sighed as she began to apply powder during his silence. 

“Stiles, I told you when all of this started to never expect me to talk to you about this _thing_ with Peter.” She said archly, and Stiles slumped a bit. Lydia was his most reasonable friend who he could almost guarantee would hate Peter, and he needed her to tell him how to get out of this.

“I know-”

“I’m making an exception.”

 _Thank God_.

“Stiles, you’ve been with Peter for almost four years now, where did you think this relationship was going?”

“Three years!” Stiles protested, because he certainly had _not_ been with the other man for four years. 

“You’re rounding down.” Lydia stated flatly as she began to apply her eye-shadow. Stiles huffed and sputtered half-formed protests, but couldn’t manage to string anything coherent together so he remained silent. 

“I don’t know where I thought this was going! I wasn’t really even thinking about this as a relationship!” 

“When was the last time you were with someone else? When you wanted to be with someone else?” 

Six months after he and Peter had started sleeping together, there had been a girl in his college senior-seminar who’d been into comics and had had this weird goose laugh he’d found charming, and they’d had sex during a party. It had been good sex, even if it had been a little sloppy and drunk, and they’d planned to go to the movies a week later. 

He’d gone to Peter’s the next morning because the man had wanted to force breakfast on him, and he could remember the look on Peter’s face when he’d smelled the girl on him, barely a half second for surprise, displeasure, and disappointment to flash across his face before being wiped away. It had left something heavy in his gut, cold and hard like lead and suddenly the night before didn’t look quite as fun and easy as Stiles had remembered. He’d canceled the movie date, and if he ever thought about being with another person he always remembered that _look_ and it never seemed like a good enough idea.

“It’s been a while.” He admitted quietly, brain caught a bit on the realization that Peter hadn’t invited him out for breakfast since.

“And do you not want to be with Peter? Do you not see the two of you together moving forward?”

When he thought forward, Peter was there. With his stupid perfect hair and his dumb face, always being an ass about his opinions on movies and insisting they buy the pricier versions of groceries because he was such an entitled douche even if the store brand was almost the exact same thing.

He liked going to sleep beside him on the nights he stayed over, liked the weight of his arm settled over his hips and the quiet sound of his sleep-heavy breathing that could always lull him to sleep. 

He liked curling up on the other side of the couch and talking through his latest case or his training of his spark, and liked how sometimes when Peter was reading and Stiles was managing to stay in one place long enough to read or watch TV that Peter would reach over, arm along the back of the couch, and rest his hand on the back of Stiles’ hair, idly playing with the strands as they sat together.

Of course Peter was still with him. 

“It’s not that…” He sighs, rubbing harshly at his face and wishing it was all just _easier_. 

“Do you not want to get married then?” 

He just… He didn’t know. Wouldn’t that change things? Was that too much? Did he really want to be Peter Hale’s _husband?_  
Lydia fully turned her attention from her makeup mirror toward him since the beginning of the call, and breathed harshly out of her nose at whatever she saw.

“If you’re not sure, just say no when he asks you. But maybe think about _why_ you’re saying no.”

“That’s… That’s it? I thought you’d tell me to, I don’t know, just say no. You hate Peter!”

Lydia rolled her eyes, obviously done with the situation. “I _despise_ Peter, but I’m not going to give you an easy way out by telling you to say no. Say yes, say no, it doesn’t matter to me. Just make a decision and stick to it.”

Very little else is said as they disconnected the call, and the silence Stiles is left to stew in after his screen goes blank is uncomfortable and accusatory. 

He tries to look over the new case he had been hired to do. Being a private investigator for the supernatural world left him busy and intrigued most of the time and would typically be a perfect distraction, but for some reason the issue of trying to identify _who_ the yeti in Burlington, Vermont was and trying to get him to stop trespassing on the packs lands felt like a chore. He tries to read a new book on better understanding and utilizing his spark, always eager to better control the mysterious magic coursing through his veins, but just looking at the cover reminded him that Peter had gotten him the book. That Peter had also apparently gotten him an engagement ring. 

Would it be so bad, really?

Sure, he’d have to move but his lease was going to be up in a couple of months and he wasn’t exactly attached to his apartment. Peter’s place had good lighting, a balcony, and great water pressure, and if Peter had asked him he would have been willing to move in a while ago.

Though, if he thought about it Peter had said something about them moving in together about a year ago, but Stiles had thought it was a joke and had brushed it off. He’d said something about being committed to a mental institution again before he would be willing to subject himself to living with Peter.

Which, looking back now maybe it hadn’t been a joke if Peter was thinking about _marrying_ him. Maybe Peter had actually been asking him to move in and now he was actually going to ask him to marry him and maybe Stiles had just been a huge fucking asshole this whole time.

They didn’t talk about feelings, it just wasn’t something they _did_ . Sure, they’d talked through things together, like Peter’s fear of fire and hatred of the family he still missed, as well as Stiles’ anger at his mother and father that he’d never really voiced aloud, something he pretended for the most part wasn’t there because who hated their dead mom? Who stayed mad at their father for not getting sober sooner, when he was sober _now?_

Sure, maybe they’d talked a bit about the future in an almost abstract way, like how neither really wanted to commit to a house, but maybe a dog would be nice. They’d discussed the fact that they both could see having a kid, though Peter wanted at least two because he missed having a pack so much it was a physical absence inside of him. But it wasn’t like they’d been talking about having kids _together._

Or, he was pretty sure that’s not what they’d really been discussing.

And maybe, just maybe, Stiles hated waking up alone the days he forces himself not to go to Peter’s. Maybe Stiles likes how even though the ridiculous amount of hair and face products the man has dominates the bathroom sink, there is a slice of counter just big enough for his own stuff carved out. Maybe he likes the smell of Peter’s cologne so much he sometimes puts just a tiny bit on his wrist when he’s feeling particularly lonely or if they aren’t going to see each other for a bit. Maybe the taste of the food the man makes is better than anything else he had ever eaten, and maybe he always has this dumb little ball of warmth in his gut when he sees Peter in the kitchen, shirt rolled up to his elbows and dapper apron tied on in a way that is stupidly attractive though Stiles wouldn’t let him know it. 

Maybe, when he thought about it again, marrying Peter felt more than a little right.

* * *

He doesn’t see the box again for two weeks.

He’s curled up in the corner of Peter’s couch, whining about how the case he’s on is going to force him to go to this dumb art gala by himself to finally corner the vampire he’d been looking for to serve him with the divorce papers specifying the fact that his soon-to-be ex-wife would be filing for full rights to their favorite “blood donor,” and that he could not have any contact with the middle-aged human accountant who’d been with them for ten years. 

He had no idea how it was going to work, it was weird, and he hated his suit, but vampire jobs always paid well.

“That reminds me,” Peter stood and walked back toward his bedroom. “I found something and decided to get it for you.”

“Sweet! Love presents. What is it? Is it Marvel themed?” Stiles yammers on excitedly, but as soon as he sees Peter step out of the bedroom with that small navy jewelry box in his hand his voice dies a swift and painful death in his throat.

“Not quite.” Peter says dryly, standing over Stiles’ frozen form as he holds the box out to him. Stiles can’t quite manage to force his hands to move to take it. “Well? Do you just want me to take it away?”

Stiles doesn’t bother with glaring up at Peter, all of his focus instead on taking the box without dropping it or throwing it across the room and bolting for it. His hands are shaking, his heart is pounding, and that plus however his face looks is enough to have Peter watching him cautiously and strangely.

_Why do I have to open the goddamn thing myself? Is this really how I get engaged?_

The box is opened easily, the small thing making a little “Pop!” as it settles open, the covered cardboard top hitting the bottom, and Stiles can only stare stupidly at what’s inside.

Shiny silver and black, subtle and elegant in a way he would never have bought for himself, the cufflinks are lovely.

“While they’re not Marvel, I know you like Batman and I thought you’d appreciate the detective spin on it with what you do.” Stiles doesn’t respond for several heavy seconds, and Peter’s brow furrows in what could possibly be worry. “Because he’s considered the best detective in the comics, I believe.”

Stiles isn’t listening, instead focusing on the way that the light reflects of the silver bars when he tilts the box toward the lamp. 

“You know,” He said idly, voice deceptively light considering how heavy and conflicted he feels, “I thought you were going to propose.”

Peter blinks down at him, the most visibly caught off guard he had ever been in Stiles’ presence. “Why on earth would you think that?”

“Because I saw the box in your underwear drawer a couple weeks ago and drew conclusions. Because… because soon we’ll have been together for four years and, _I don’t know,_ that’s just what people in relationships do.” Stiles isn’t shaking anymore as the words pour out, the icy feeling of anger flowing through him focusing him. “ _Because_ , you ass, it was a natural conclusion!”

He pushes himself up to glare at the slightly taller man, jewelry box held in a death grip. Peter stares down at him, face carefully blank but if Stiles looks for all the right cues he can see the absolute confusion in the werewolf’s eyes.

“We’re not in a relationship.” Peter says flatly, and Stiles makes a sound of barely restrained anger more akin to a dying pterodactyl than anything human.

“We’ve been together for _years_ , we love each other, I fucking get sad when I don’t see your stupid face every day. You just bought me cufflinks and half of our relationship is bitching at each other while the other half is mindblowing sex. What the _fuck_ would you call that, Peter?”

“You don’t _want_ a relationship.” Peter’s eyes flash, teeth bared for a moment of absolute fury that would have given a more rational man a moment of pause.

“Yeah, that sure is what it sounds like, isn’t it? Me talking about marriage is secretly me wanting to remain unattached fuckbuddies with you.” Stiles angrily throws the jewelry box at the other man, though with the one foot distance between them all it managed to do was bounce ineffectively off his chest to land on the rug. Stiles grunts in frustration, throws his hands up into the air, and turns to pace away.

“Whenever I try to progress _anything_ you always push back and make excuses or ignore me! You won’t move in, you refuse to go to any work functions with me, you _refuse_ to even mention having any feelings for me.”

“How am I supposed to differentiate our normal bitching at each other for you being sincere? You need to say something in a not condescending voice if you want me to know that you’re being serious. And _of course_ I have feelings for you, you absolute ass! Nobody’s dick is good enough to keep me with them for almost four fucking years!”

“Then why are we sleeping with other people?” Peter sighed, voice sounding heavy and serious and everything about Stiles fucking _stops._

“What?” He asks quietly, for the first time in his life since the Nogitsune feeling that bad kind of dangerous, feeling that itch of anger/sadness/spite/fury that made him want to absolutely destroy something. He turns, every movement very, very careful, and watches Peter.

The werewolf is pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezed shut against all of it, and Stiles wanted so much in that moment just to break him open and make him realize just what he was doing to Stiles with this. To make him feel even an iota of what Stiles was feeling.

“You’ve been seeing other people since the beginning, I’ve known since what was probably the first one. A girl... She smelled like ink and paint and alcohol and you _reeked_ of her afterwards, so you obviously thought it was alright or wanted me to know. So I knew what you thought this was, and even if it had to be that way I made sure we never met up early in the day after you would have been with them, and I assumed after her you just… Became a little bit more _discrete.”_

“You said ‘ _We_ ,’ though.” Stiles can feel magic crackling between his fingertips, lightning all bottled up inside of him and waiting to explode.

“I’ve had a few people I’ve taken out. I’ve mentioned them to you a few times. People I’ve gone to the functions you say are a waste of your time, people who don’t care all that much about being seen out with me at places where people we know may be, people from work on occasion.”

People Stiles would have assumed were friends or colleagues, since he obviously hadn’t been paying attention.

Peter finally looks at him, eyes so tired and worn and Stiles wants to hate him, he really, really does. 

Stiles takes three very careful steps forward until he’s practically pressed up against Peter, reaches up to take a firm handful of Peter’s far-too expensive shirt, and yanks so that they are nose to nose, his own teeth bared like a feral animal as he stared at the reflection of his own eye’s in Peter’s, so he can see how they’re glowing blazing copper with his spark barely contained.

“I want names, Peter.” He says carefully, quietly, and Peter blinks at him in surprise, captivated at the magical glow of the younger man’s eyes.

“Why?”

“Because I have not been with another person in over three years, not since that girl. You’ve been it, and I thought it was understood that was mutual.”

“How could I understand something you never said?” He murmured, hand going up to loosely circle the wrist of the hand that was still holding him tight. “It always seemed like it was clear you never wanted anything else other than sex. What else was I supposed to do? _Pine_ over you and be treated like a fool for however long we were together as I assumed you were getting things from other people since you didn’t want them from me? I was fine with staying with you because I’ve yet to find someone else that makes me feel the way you do, but sometimes I needed more than you wanted to give.”

“You don’t know what I wanted to give. Maybe neither of us did. But do you know what I want now?” He pushes, and Peter lets himself fall back into the couch behind him, laying back as Stiles crouched over him like a predator about to strike. “I want the names of every person that touched you while we’ve been together, and I want to know when we might come across them because I am going to hate them for the rest of my life.”

Stiles could logically understand this maybe wasn’t _technically_ cheating, after all he’d assumed that they’d been open for the majority of their relationship, though he hadn’t been able to act on it after the first time. It was all stuck in this strange middle ground that hurt and enraged him and broke him just a little and made him want to lash out. But no matter how much he wanted to hurt Peter back ten times over something about seeing Peter laying beneath him almost submissive as he stared up at Stiles, finally allowing all that hurt and anger to show, made him realize that it would just hurt more. 

“We’re going to have a very, very long talk about everything.” He had a sudden realization, and grinned sharply down at the other man. “Fuck it, we’ll go to couples therapy if we have to. Because this? All of this? Is fucking _over_ . You are it. You are _mine_. If you let another person touch you ever again I will rip you both apart and no one will ever be able to find the scraps of you that are left later. We belong to each other, Peter Hale, and I am going to fucking marry the shit out of you once we get ourselves straightened out.”

Peter was staring up at him like a devout man who had finally seen the face of god, relaxed beneath him in a way Peter had never been with him before. One of his hands goes up and cups Stiles’ face, a shock racing between them as the younger man’s wild magic reacted to the touch. 

“And are you mine, Stiles? Can I own you as much as you own all of me right now?”

Stiles would never be one to describe Peter as gentle or hopeful, but that was all that could come to mind as he stared down at the other man.

He wondered if and when they’d actually be able to say that they loved each other to the other person. He wondered if that day would ever come. But maybe this was their own way of saying it until they were brave enough to say the real words. At least, that’s what it felt like to him.

“Of course you can. You already do.”

**Author's Note:**

> I managed to get this in just before the one year anniversary of my last posted story so go me!
> 
> So the lovely CaptainKenway and I are going to try and write according to some prompts she found on tumblr (https://downwithwritersblock.tumblr.com/post/190583780188/happy-february-i-tried-to-make-this-prompt-set). I won't be posting each one unless they're associated with a fandom or finished, but hopefully I'll be able to post a decent amount so I'll be motivated to get working on the large amount of WIPs I have languishing on my computer.
> 
> Title is a Cop-out, and I don't care


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